Evil Cries

by Lala Corriere

  Another pause. Like the cable network had gone out before the final scene in the movie, or the clock that never stroked midnight on New Year’s Eve.

  “Sterling. Look at me. Look at me closely. Don’t you see it? Don’t you feel it?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

  “I’m older than you. By twenty-eight years. Oddly, to the very date.”

  I didn’t see or feel anything. “You were born on my birthday? There are only 365 days a year. A helluva of lot of babies are born every day. Got it. That means a lot of people share our birthday.”

  “Look in the mirror, Sterling. I’m not as fair as you are, but your grandfather was an Albino.”

  I stared at her. What grandfather?

  “You’re scaring her,” Zoey said. “Spit it out.”

  Shirley looked away, and then turned her eyes back to mine so that I could miss nothing of everything I would have wanted to miss.

  “I’m your mother, Sterling.”

  Chapter 18

  My Bad Juju

  “MY MOTHER DIED in childbirth”, I screamed.

  “No. She didn’t,” Shirley said. “I am very much alive.”

  I shook my head. “This is ridiculous. My mother is dead and that gave me enough pain over the years, especially when I screwed up my life on more than one occasion and wondered why I had been spared and she had died to give birth to me.” I was speaking to Zoey.

  “You were intentionally misinformed,” Shirley said.

  I lifted up from my seat on unsteady legs and grabbed my purse. “I’m out of here.”

  “Wait,” Zoey said. “You sit your pretty white ass right down there and listen to what the lady has to say. Please.”

  I sat back down and sunk my head into pulled up legs, only after I reached for the drink and wished it was gasoline.

  “I’m going to shoot straight,” Shirley said. “I was married to Oliver Falls. He married me when we found out I was pregnant. It was the noble thing to do and we thought we were in love.

  “We both started Falls & Falls, but that came later. I’ve often thought you would wonder who the other Falls was. Before you.”

  The truth? I always thought it was a name reserved for me.

  “My mother died in childbirth,” I reiterated.

  “We managed a meager existence. Living in a pocket of poverty, but we held a dream for our future. Every dime we made went toward Oliver becoming a gemologist. This is before you were born. We just knew we made a good team. That’s what I believed and I am certain it’s what your father believed.

  “We didn’t have the money for our own store. Not by a long shot. The best your dad could do was to get hired on by a jeweler. Any jeweler, but I guess that was too slow a road for him. Oliver met a person that could make it all happen on a fast track. And this was only a couple months after our quick marriage. You were due in five months. What I didn’t know is that he sold his soul, and I suppose mine, along with it.”

  “You’re lying. My dad was a good man! Honest. Loving,” I screamed.

  “Please. Calm down and listen to me. Your dad was a very good man. This is as hard for me as it is for you,” Shirley, the liar, said.

  Zoey reached for the bottle of gin and poured the liquid juju for all three of us. This juju that had always been a bad omen for me. It was too late, anyway. The curse was in full swing.

  I took a deep breath that felt like inhaling icicles. In the middle of the friggin’ desert I felt icicles piercing through my throat.

  “I was pregnant with you and worried about how we were going to make ends meet. And all of the sudden we had the money. The store. The overhead. And the incredible inventory worth millions. We were up and operating in three weeks. I might have known something was wrong. Too good to be true. Your father told me he had investors. And I guess it wasn’t a lie— except we only had one investor.

  “A month later and we were having the ride of our life. Then we get an invitation to a party. A fancy Hollywood party. I told your father that we were way out of our league and that was one of the few times he ever yelled at me. You see, the party was being hosted by the one investor. He confessed this. That night I looked down at my bulging belly and told him I had nothing to wear.

  “And then this investor walks into our store, announced who she was, and I almost fainted. Naïve, I guess, but it was a woman. And she was so kind to me. And very beautiful. Wordly. She walked around the room and offered her great accolades on what we had created, and then she turned to me and out of nowhere told me she had the perfect dress for me to wear to her party. A princess cut. You know. More giving on my waistline because I was starting to show. She told me it would fit perfectly and the iced-blue color would enhance my eyes. And then do you know what she did?”

  Zoey sunk her head, her eyes let go the soulful and emanated only the mournful. I sat silent and still as my mind raced almost as fast as my quickened pulse.

  “This woman, this investor, pointed to a necklace with matching earrings in our display cabinet. Probably the most extravagant items we had in the store at the time, all three pieces dripping with flawless aquamarines and diamonds. She told me they would be perfect with the dress.

  She said, “What harm? They’re yours to begin with and you simply replace them in the morning after my party.”

  I took an exaggerated breath. I’d had enough. Zoey patted me on the leg and whispered, “Let her finish. She’s almost done. This is hard for her.”

  Shirley took two, then three chugs of her martini.

  “I’m listening,” I said, but I don’t know why. I loved my dad. No matter what this woman had cooked up on him. If she even knew him.

  “Truth is I don’t even remember the party. I remember I still felt out of my comfort zone, but your father urged me this was our lifestyle if we were going to sell anything in Beverly Hills. The next morning, a Sunday, I returned to the store before opening time to place the necklace and earrings back in the vault until we would later bring them out for display, but I never made it in the door. The police grabbed me on the street, read me my Miranda rights and shoved me into the back seat of their cruiser.”

  “So what?” I had had it with the entire story. “Your store. Your inventory. Your return.”

  “Except the investor owned our inventory. She filed charges. Video cameras, even as grainy as they were in those days, clearly showed me taking the jewelry. No one cared about me returning them the next day.”

  “What about my dad? If what you are saying is true—”

  “Girlfriend, it’s true,” Zoey said. “Now let her finish.”

  I glowered at both of them and pulled my knees up even tighter toward my chin. I suppose to protect me. It entered my mind that Shirley had taken up the same pathetic curled up pose. We had both been in that position for what seemed like hours.

  “I told you. Your father had sold his soul to an investor that wanted more than interest. Her interest was your father. And even more so, her interest was in our unborn child.”

  “So what? This makes no sense. You seem quite capable of taking care of business.”

  “I wasn’t the same person I am now.”

  “So you just end your marriage and hand me over to the new happy couple? You could have damn well proven the innocence of it all.”

  “There was more they had going for their cause. It turns out—well, something I had been struggling to be free of all of my adult life and your dad knew it. It turns out I’m gay.”

  I pursed my lips. Closed my eyes. I shut off the bag lady-turned-undercover-turned mom and turned-gay. I dimmed the conversation, somewhere between the gin and the ugly. The trouble with the gin juice.

  I vanished inside myself, but not before Shirley said, “You’re going to have questions. Lots of questions. I’ll answer every one of them as honestly as I can.”

  I left, feeling somewhere between lonely, devastated, and mad as hell.

  As if they cared
, they called me a cab.

  Chapter 19

  Second Homes

  DAMN GAGE. HE was still in Chicago. When I arrived back home I called and told him everything. After a lot of “I see’s” and “Uh-huhs” he said I was going to have a lot of questions. Maybe for years. Frigging same thing this woman told me. He said, “If she’s the person she says she is she’ll answer them. Give her time.”

  MARCUS ARMSTRONG slipped in between his two worlds like Star Trek’s Spock. Only Spock couldn’t hide his crazy ears and, should it spill, his green Vulcan blood.

  Even he found it odd that he left his home at Reddington Pass as Dr. Marcus Armstrong, and it wasn’t until he hit the outskirts of Tucson that he became Sacrum.

  While traveling south, Marcus wore an old straw hat with visible holes and frays, and if need be, he’d pull it down low on his face. His hair, salt-and-pepper, but growing more salty every day, didn’t match his skin of silk and his baby-soft hands, but any passing cars that might take a look would immediately look the other way. They knew the poor degenerate driver was working his ass off in their fancy neighborhood for shitty pay and they didn’t want to see it. They’d deduce he had a generous employer that loaned him a decent vehicle so he could get his ass there on time, every day.

  He loved isolation and he’d found it in two homes. He simply had to remain alert to maintain his anonymity while driving between his utopias.

  It reminded him of the month he spent in Hidden Hills, California. The valley offered an almost constant smog. Who’d want to live there? Celebrities. Sinbad. Lisa Marie Presley. Even good old Fred MacMurray. That’s who.

  God. Marcus loved the reruns of My Three Sons, although he had no siblings and knew he’d never have one son. Or daughter.

  Reddington Pass was the closest thing in Tucson. No smog. A few celebrities. And very hidden. The boat was a close second. Just a little different.

  He drove south toward his second home, a boat he had christened for his mother, The Sarah, if only in his mind.

  His mother fought. Cried. Screamed. She didn’t want the surgery for her son. His sacrum was injured. She knew that, but he was too young. The surgery was too risky.

  His father put his foot down. The man of the house. He won. Mom and little Marcus lost.

  His parents were both dead now. His mom died of heart failure. Marcus knew it was a broken heart, deteriorating every time she watched her son struggle to walk in those early days after the botched surgery, with walkers and canes and inevitable painful falls.

  His dad? An untimely accident.

  Marcus, now entering the world of Sacrum, cried as he boarded his landlocked boat. He cried only for his mother.

  Chapter 20

  A Dickless Tracy

  THREE DAYS LATER, my pragmatic Doubting Thomas side had amassed so many questions it would sink any container on any barge on any ocean. Shirley arrived at the store shortly after opening, as promised, dressed in a smart business suit and carrying a leather satchel. We took chairs inside my small back office.

  More small talk. She asked the questions.

  “How are your sales?”

  “Do you like Tucson?”

  “Have you done some exploring? Hiking, biking, fishing, snake shooting, or church worshiping?”

  Clearly she was out of questions.

  “How is it I have no memory of this woman you say wanted me so badly?” I demanded.

  Shirley pulled a large accordion file from her satchel and rifled through it. She removed a paper clip from several newspaper articles and spread them across for me to see.

  “Car accident. You weren’t even three years old,” she said.

  My breath hitched. I studied them a minute. Considered the photo of a young woman, the deceased, whose face I had never seen. “Do you mind if I make copies?” I asked.

  “They’re yours to keep.”

  “Why didn’t you come for me then?”

  “Her death might have altered your father’s stance on the trumped-up theft charge, but I was still a lesbian and lesbians couldn’t be mothers. Not good mothers. Not then. I had already moved to Virginia, and was in the middle of extensive training. I thought I’d have a hard time breaking a big commitment to fight a losing cause with social barriers all around it.”

  “So you moved to Virginia to be a Dickless Tracy, but you didn’t come find me?”

  “Oh, I knew where you were. You didn’t go to a summer camp without me knowing exactly where you were. Right or wrong, I decided you were better off without me. And I decided your dad was right. I didn’t know how to be a mother to you and you had plenty of female family members there to watch over you and mentor you. Mind you, your father would have fought me. I was not a decent role model for you. He made that clear. Everyone made that clear, including society.”

  She pulled out another thick file and handed it to me. “I don’t think I ever intended to exact revenge. I didn’t know how to begin, but I saved this. These are the agreements between the original Falls and Falls. Your father and me. Again, they’re yours to keep. I have no use for them now.”

  This time I didn’t bother with perusing the documents, but I accepted the file readily. “Why are you here, Shirley? Why were you here that first night when those awful things went down?”

  “Being here that night was a pure coincidence I’m eternally grateful for. I’m still working that case, but there is one more thing you need to know.”

  “You’re kidding me? What else?”

  “I work for the FBI, Sterling. I’m an agent, currently working undercover. You must realize I need you to keep this to yourself. I’m breaking all the rules by telling you this.”

  I choked back a defiant cackle. Shirley caught it and pulled out her credentials.

  I scoured them. I felt my chest cave in. With a quaking voice I said, “So it wasn’t Virginia so much as Quantico?”

  She nodded; her eyes misted, but fixed on mine.

  “I’m here on other matters. You will respect I can not divulge those details to you.”

  Shirley retrieved another stack of files and placed them on my desk. “For your reading pleasure,” she winked. “It will take you some time to digest. No pressure. I’m not expecting you to call me mother or anything like that, but I would like to be friends. Next time we meet, let’s make it fun.”

  She rose and turned to leave my office.

  I remained seated and watched her leave, then called out, “Shirley!”

  She turned back toward me.

  “I’m sorry about the wise-crack. You being a Dickless Tracy.”

  She smiled, shrugged, and said, “It’s true.” And she disappeared.

  I took notice. She had my same skinny bird legs and I think she might have had my walk.

  Chapter 21

  The First Guest

  MARCUS, NOW ENTERING this world as Sacrum, fitted the brand new key into the brand new lock on his below-deck new steel door. He laughed. Never mind the boat hosted nothing, but rotted wood. Sun damage. Probably termites. He liked the door. It might entice someone to break it down from the splintered frame and then he would have some fun.

  With a bit extra shaggy hair, low riding baggy jeans, and a muscle shirt topped off with the tattered straw hat, he felt Sacrum come alive. Just wearing the carefully chosen items released his second skin like a snake, only he shed his old skin at least once a month.

  Even while enjoying the absolute divineness of his new home, he sat in wait for his first customer. Someone seeking shelter from the heat? Someone running from the law?

  Sacrum’s life neared perfection. He considered that Marcus may find that same state of being someday, if Rachel Lee did her job right.

  He could smell the fresh approach. Soon his ears confirmed it with the crunching of dirt and cacti and a few random rocks and holes he had placed around the perimeter.

  “Look who’s coming to dinner,” he snarled with a mere whisper while trickles of delight surged down his spi
ne.

  Sacrum exited his sanctuary through the back hole he had carved out just as soon as he knew he had company. He circled around and watched as his visitor scrambled up the makeshift rope to the deck and tapped lightly at the steel door on a decayed boat. The guest knocked loudly. Then, looking behind his shoulder, he banged.

  Sacrum laughed at his ingenuity. A fucking steel door protecting nothing the intruder wants to find. Tears welled in his eyes. Tears for his dead mother. Tears for the fucked-up surgery that left him with a limp. Tears of joy. He watched the intruder open the steel fortress.

  Shame on him. He’d forgotten to lock it. Delightful.

  The tears shut off like airstrip runway lights in a power outage with no backup generator. That fast. That dangerous.

  His first invited uninvited guest. This one would not be leaving the way he arrived.

  He hadn’t bothered learning much Spanish. Bienvenidos. ¿Cerveza fria? Piel. Muerto. Welcome. Cold beer? Skin. Death. In that order, of course.

  “Bienvenidos. ¿Cerveza fria?” Sacrum asked in his most practiced kind voice as he came from behind the guest.

  The intruder whipped around, stared, then perceiving no mal intent, nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Juan—er, John,” the boy answered.

  “You speak English, Juan-John?”

  The boy nodded and Sacrum handed him the promised beer, knowing he probably needed water. The guest offered a wavering smile and Sacrum said, “Sit down. Make yourself at home.”

  The boy remained standing and taking large swigs from the bottle.

  Sacrum pointed to one of two chairs. “You don’t speak a lick of English, do you, you mud-fuck?”

  The boy nodded again under the calm of Sacrum’s calming voice.

  “The thing is, Juan-John, I’m into skin. Muscles and ligaments. Tissue and even tiny little veins.”

  The boy gulped down the beer and his eyes grew wider, as if listening to a great master storyteller.